A Christmas Romance in the Scottish Highlands (Scottish Highlands #6)

Chapter 30

30

ALEX

Alex took in a long, steadying breath as he parked in the marked bay reserved for him in the company car park. He switched off the engine and wondered why this familiar space suddenly felt so wrong.

He’d arrived at his home in Edinburgh late last night, after taking his time driving from Mistletoe. He hadn’t rushed his journey. His need to impress his father had faded since his sabbatical and their confrontation at Pinecone Manor.

He'd spent the night in his cold quiet home – wishing Sprout or Wyatt were there. Craving something to distract him from staring at the ceiling. He’d slept badly, waking fitfully as he’d imagined he could see Ella’s face frowning from the shadows, could hear the patter of paws on the bare floorboards.

He checked his mobile again. He hadn’t heard from Stan and after a barrage of texts and messages yesterday, Ella had stopped trying to contact him. He’d never felt so alone.

His insides twisted painfully as he tried – and failed – to push all thoughts of her away. Then he took another deep breath and opened the car door.

Alex paused as he walked through the imposing glass doors of Charming Capital Management, preparing himself to see Ella’s painting in the reception area – a reminder of her betrayal. Then he frowned as he took in the freshly painted wall which glowed stark white. Someone had hung a set of new silver hooks, but the space was empty. Where was Ella’s painting? Why wasn’t it here?

Frowning, he nodded to the security guard, taking in the scant Christmas decorations and lack of smiles or laughter coming from the staff. Had it always been so grim and unhappy in the office, and why hadn’t he noticed that before? Alex waited, readying himself to say hello when he was buzzed through the security gates, but the guard didn’t even look up from his computer.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Alex said as he passed, earning himself a double take.

‘And to you, sir,’ the guard eventually said, his brows dipping as, looking confused, he studied Alex.

Alex straightened his spine as he marched into one of the elevators and pressed the button for the top floor. Then he stared at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror – taking in the shadows under his eyes and the way his mouth wilted as the lift travelled upwards.

By the time it arrived, Alex had found his iceman again. He took his time walking along the chrome, glass and grey corridor, passing his office – which was bare of tinsel or anything jolly – as dread seemed to drill tiny holes in the pit of his stomach. He stopped momentarily in the doorway of Stan’s office, noticing the new furniture, frames filled with pictures of strangers and shiny Apple computer that all signalled someone new had already moved in.

‘Alex,’ Michael Charming barked as he opened his father’s office door. ‘You’re late.’ He took in his son. ‘At least you made it in time for our meeting. I want to talk about tomorrow…Take a seat, I’ve not got much time.’

His father began to tap on his computer, accessing whichever file he wanted them to discuss. After a few moments he looked up, his lips bunching in annoyance. ‘Why are you still standing?’

‘Where’s the painting Ella McNally sold you?’ Alex asked, glancing around the room. He shouldn’t care, but he had a feeling something odd was happening and he needed to shake it off.

Michael sat back in his leather chair and folded his arms. ‘Is this jealousy because I wanted to buy her picture instead of yours?’ His mouth set into an unrepentant line as Alex stared at him without responding. ‘It’s a dog-eat-dog world, remember?’

‘Aye. I remember,’ Alex said softly. ‘I’m just not sure I agree with you anymore.’

His father lifted an eyebrow. ‘You sound like your mother.’ He sighed.

‘Perhaps.’ Alex nodded. ‘Maybe I’m more like her than I realised. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.’ He went to take a seat so he was the same height as his father and could look into his eyes. ‘I did want you to like my painting,’ he said. ‘In fact, all I’ve thought about for the last few weeks is what you were going to think.’

Michael nodded as if that wasn’t a surprise.

‘But I’ve realised I have to stop looking for your approval.’ The moment he said the words, Alex’s body loosened, as if a bunch of suffocating knots had been untied. ‘Because for the first time, I understand you’re never going to give it to me.’

His father’s expression cooled. ‘Seems you’ve spent a little too long out of the office, Alex. I think we should get started – we haven’t got all day.’ He waved a hand as if dismissing their conversation but for the first time in his life, Alex wasn’t going to fall into line. Wasn’t going to do what was expected.

‘Tell me about Ella’s painting,’ he pushed. He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear, but he had to know why it wasn’t up in the reception yet.

The canvas hadn’t been in Henry’s studio yesterday morning. A courier wouldn’t have taken long to bring it here – and Alex knew his father would want it hung the instant it arrived. Michael Charming wasn’t a man known for his patience. He glanced around the office again, wondering if he’d somehow missed it, if it was propped against a desk or wall.

His father sighed. ‘Ms McNally wouldn’t sell it to me. She told me I should hang yours because it was better.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s obvious she’s not a businesswoman. I had the space repainted; I’m assuming you brought your picture with you from Edinburgh?’ His tone was offhand, and Alex didn’t bother telling him that he’d given it away. ‘It’ll serve as a temporary solution until you paint something better. If you can.’

‘Ella wouldn’t sell her painting to you?’ Alex checked. He swallowed as a wave of guilt threatened to overwhelm him. Had she been telling the truth? Had her painting always been for him? Hope made him stand up again.

‘That’s what I said.’ His father looked him up and down. ‘You look ill, lad. Pull yourself together. You’ve been out of the office for long enough. We’ve got a lot to get done this evening.’

‘It’s Christmas Eve.’ Alex glanced at his watch and winced. ‘What time does a pantomime usually begin?’ He couldn’t remember what time Mae had told them to arrive.

Michael snorted. ‘How should I know? Can you focus now, lad?’ His tone hardened.

Alex sighed and gave his father a long look – then he spun towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back to Mistletoe. I’m sorry, but I’ve got something I have to do – a lot of important people I don’t want to let down.’

‘What’s got into you, Alexander?’ His father rose. ‘Stop talking nonsense. You need to get on with our meeting.’

‘I can’t,’ Alex said as he reached the door and opened it.

‘If you leave this office now, you won’t be welcome back,’ his father said, his voice like ice.

Alex turned and stared at him as a thousand memories assaulted him – every moment between them that he could remember over the years, each conversation, argument or idle exchange. None of them were good. ‘Aye. I’ll email my resignation as soon as the pantomime is done.’

‘Alexander?’ His father gaped. ‘Is this about the painting?’

‘Nae.’ Alex shook his head. ‘It’s about me finally realising I’m never going to be enough for you. I can’t please you. It’s time I stopped trying and started thinking about what I want instead.’

‘Alexander!’ His father yelled again as Alex walked out of his office and into the hall feeling light. He checked his watch again and broke into a trot. The pantomime would surely be starting soon.

If he left now, he might be able to make the second half. Would hopefully get there in time to play his part – if traffic and fate were on his side. He’d just needed to pop into Pinecone Manor on the way. He’d call Henry from the car; perhaps his mentor could make sure his costume was ready when he arrived? His stomach pitched as he broke into a sprint, suddenly feeling excited and nervous all at once.

His life was changing, but he was in control. He’d left his job; now it was time to talk to Ella, to beg her for forgiveness. For the first time in years, Alex knew exactly where he was going and what he wanted, and it had nothing to do with his father – and everything to do with him.